


Excuse Me, I think You Have My Suitcase

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Tony Stark Bingo [23]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Office, Anal Sex, Impulse Control, Lingerie, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 14:49:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17706326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Problem one: Tony and Bucky get their luggage mixed up. Problem 2: Tony’s suitcase is full of lingerie. Hijinks ensue. Or... the one where Bucky has poor impulse control.Tony Stark BingoTisfan - T3 Sharing Clothes27Dragons - A1 Occupational Hazard





	Excuse Me, I think You Have My Suitcase

**Author's Note:**

> Credits to: Fast Food Drive Thru - by Stevens and Grdnic  
> Code Monkey - By Jonathon Coulton

 

Bucky threw his suitcase onto the bed, listlessly watching it bounce on the too-firm mattress. If he never saw another hotel room in his life, it would be too goddamn soon. Along with “fulfilling in creative ways,” minimal travel had been just another lie that Hammer Tech had sold him.

He’d been back in his own apartment a total of three days in the last month. His plants were dead, and thank Christ he’d never gotten around to getting a pet.

He picked up the phone and placed the least thought-process involving order to room service he could think of -- cheeseburger, onion rings, and a large orange soda -- and kicked off his shoes. Tomorrow would start a week-long seminar with Stark Industries (theoretically to brainstorm and resource share, but that was probably code for “get me something I can use” and he’d have to report up to Vanko that SI was decades ahead of the competition.) and all Bucky wanted to do was change into some comfy sweats and sleep for the next two days straight.

He fell onto the bed, his keys digging into his thigh. He shifted a little until he was mostly comfortable, and drowsed, waiting for dinner to arrive.

When it did, the waiter handed him a tray that contained:

One cheesesteak with onions and a bowl of those little orange slices that people gave to kindergarteners.

Bucky looked at his food. Looked at the hotel staffer. Sighed. Whatever. Why people couldn’t understand Cheeseburger, Onion Rings, and a Large Orange Drink… Bucky didn’t know. Maybe he was so tired he was speaking something other than English and hadn’t noticed. Sleep-absorbed Romanian or something.

Wasn’t that the idea of osmosis? Stuff moved from a high concentration to a place of low concentration. He was sure he’d read that somewhere. Which meant just about anything could have moved into his brain, since as far as Bucky could tell, everything else had leaked out recently.

He didn’t bother to correct the order.

Which he totally should have, because who the fuck put mayo on a cheesesteak? That was an affront is what that was.

Dinner finished, Bucky opened his suitcase to grab his sleep pants--

\--and just about had a fucking heart attack.

***

Tony grumbled as he lugged his suitcase into the hotel room. Why couldn’t they have hosted this stupid conference at Stark Tower? Then he wouldn’t have had to travel, and he could sleep in his own bed, and the food would be better for everyone involved.

Instead, he was stuffed into a hotel room, with the dismal prospect of lukewarm meals and unevenly-heated showers and scratchy hotel towels. And worse, he’d have to “collaboratively innovate” with his competitors, all of whom would be sniffing around and hoping to steal Stark Industries’ ideas. He could only hope that Hammer’s representative wasn’t that creepy Vanko guy again this year.

Like, who came to a business conference and wanted to make small talk about _whips?_ Ug.

Ah, well. Travel and all its foibles were occupational hazards that Tony knew well. But he was going to change into something _comfortable_ and then he was going to call Pepper to report in and make her listen to him whine about the accommodations.

He heaved his suitcase up onto the bed. Damn it, the TSA assholes had stolen his lock _again_. He sighed and threw back the lid--

\--and stopped.

That... was not his suit. Or his dress shoes. Or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his underwear, and oh fuck, he had gotten the wrong god damned suitcase at the baggage claim.

Which -- oh _fuck_ \-- meant that _someone else had his suitcase_. And everything inside it.

Unable to drag his eyes off the neatly-folded stack of underwear, Tony fished his phone out of his pocket. “Call the airport baggage claims.”

***

Okay, okay, Bucky thought. Call baggage claim. Someone probably was looking for their honeymoon suitcase, or whatever the hell this was. A collection of silk and lacy-- things. Along with a few changes of men’s clothing, but no women’s dresses or blouses.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes, we’re so sorry about the mix up--” the woman on the phone said, after Bucky hastily explained that he had somehow ended up with the wrong suitcase. “We’ve already been contacted by the other owner-- where are you now, we can send a courier over to retrieve the bag, and make arrangements to get your own things back.”

“Uh, sure, I’m at the Hilton on East Londontown Street, but what am I supposed to wear _tomorrow_?” He found himself reaching for the contents of the suitcase again and snapped his hand back as if the clothing inside were on fire.

“Oh, well, that’s easy, then,” the woman said brightly. “You’re both staying in the same hotel! Why don’t you just take the suitcase down to the lobby and I’ll let the staff know. You can have your own things back this evening, probably. I know the other man was concerned for his belongings.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky said. A man’s suitcase. Not a couple. Not _the woman_ was concerned. He reached for one of the pieces of lingerie, a lacy black number. Looking at it more closely, he realized it was styled for a man, little silky things that resembled boxer briefs. Huh.

He shivered. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll do that. Take this right downstairs, and you’ll, uh, you’ll call me--”

“We’ll get the hotel to let you know when they have your suitcase,” the woman said. “Thanks for flying Southwest.”

_Click._

Bucky put the phone down, and then fingered the slippery material. Couldn’t quite resist-- he brought it up to his cheek and rubbed the fabric against his face. Smelled clean and like men’s cologne. What would that be like, Bucky wondered, that soft material against his cock?

He shivered again. He was going to put it all back and take the suitcase down to the lobby. That’s exactly what he was going to do.

He rubbed the fabric again. There was so much of it-- teddies and underwear and a little frilly robe. Silk stockings and a garter belt.

 _Shit._ He probably shouldn’t have rummaged through the guy’s stuff; there was no way he was going to be able to fold that up to anything remotely resembling tidy again. He tossed the one piece on his bed and started folding anyway. Closed the suitcase and headed down to turn it in.

The suitcase really did look like his, it did. Down to the scuffed handle and the broken lock. Huh. He thumbed the ID tag.

_You Know Who I am_

“No, no I don’t,” Bucky muttered. Out the door and down the elevator, he went up to the desk clerk and explained-- “I don’t know, Southwest was supposed to call you, I don’t know whose suitcase this is.”

The clerk finally found the note. “We’ll call up when we have your luggage.”

“Right,” Bucky said. He started back toward the elevator, then paused. Wondered what the guy looked like who owned the case.

Without quite consciously deciding he was going to do it, Bucky grabbed a seat in the lobby, picked up a magazine and pretended to thumb through it. The clerk had gone back to their duties, the guy would never need to know--

***

The room phone rang, and Tony snatched it up before it had even finished the first ring. “Yes, hello?”

“Mr. Stark, your luggage has been turned in. If you could bring the incorrect bag down to the front desk, we’ll be happy to return it to you.”

Christ, why couldn’t they just bring it _up?_ Tony suppressed a sigh and made a note to tell Pepper to make sure he only stayed in hotels with concierge service, from now on. “Right, I’ll be down shortly.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. No chance, really, that whoever had gotten his luggage by mistake had realized it before they’d opened it. He could hope they’d only gotten a glimpse, and were assuming it was luggage for a couple. Not that he was ashamed of his lingerie -- he’d lost all sense of shame years ago -- but it got tiresome, having people raise their eyebrows and sneer about things that didn’t even concern them.

Well, whatever. Whoever it was wouldn’t know it was Tony unless they saw him with the luggage, and the front desk clerk probably hadn’t looked in the bag. (And hotel clerks probably saw much stranger things anyway.) He stuffed his phone in one pocket and the hotel key in the other, and headed down to the lobby.

There were a few people milling around in the lobby, a tired-looking businessman checking in at the desk, a young couple by the bank of tourism brochures trying to decide what to do on their vacation, another man slumped in one of the chairs reading a magazine. Tony took a second look at him; he had a rather appealing five o’clock shadow and a gorgeously rugged jawline, and broad shoulders that suggested he’d probably be making his way down to the hotel gym at some point, because _damn_.

Tony was so busy surreptitiously eyeing the guy that he didn’t notice when the businessman finished checking in and walked away, dragging his suitcase and briefcase and garment bag along with him.

“Sir?” the clerk prompted.

“Oh!” Tony turned back around and stepped up to the counter. “I’m here for my suitcase.”

“Oh, yes sir,” the clerk said briskly. “If I could just see your ID?”

Tony leveled the guy with a look. “You know who I am,” he said drily.

“It’s procedure, Mr. Stark,” the clerk apologized.

Tony rolled his eyes and fished out his wallet. “There. Good? We’re all good here? Can I please have my bag now?”

The clerk looked at the ID carefully, as if Tony might actually be some sort of imposter, and then nodded. “Yes sir, thank you sir.” He pulled the suitcase out from under the desk and wheeled it around to Tony’s side of the wall. “Please call the desk if you have any other issues we can help with.”

“Yuh-huh,” Tony muttered. He left the other suitcase where it was, grabbed the handle of his own bag, and turned to head back to the elevators.

The hot guy with the magazine glanced up as he passed. Tony tossed out a jaunty wave and kept heading toward the elevator. Now he _really_ wanted to change into something nice, and possibly spend some quality time thinking about the guy’s mouth, because holy _shit_.

***

As soon as the elevator closed behind the guy who returned his bag, Bucky scrambled for his phone. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit,_ ” Bucky muttered. “That was _Tony Stark_.” He was pretty sure, at least. Thumbed up his web browser and clicked up a bio for the CTO of Stark Industries.

Yeah, probably. More than likely. Why hadn’t anyone ever waxed poetic about what a great ass the guy had, because _really_ \--

Bucky had a sudden image of that ass in those little silk nothings and all the blood in his body rushed south in a hell of a hurry. “Oh, god,” he said, swallowing hard. Not the only thing that was hard around here, _Jesus Christ_.

He almost threw the phone across the room in sudden shock when it rang.

“Mr. Barnes? Your suitcase has been returned.”

Why he’d thought they’d call the room -- well, honestly, they probably _had_ called the room first -- he wasn’t sure.

Bucky got up and walked away, awkwardly aware of his erection as he headed toward the lobby’s restrooms. “Yeah? Great.” That sounded mostly normal. “I’m just gonna finish this drink and I’ll pick it up.”

“Of course.”

He hung up.

He was in the bathroom. Sporting a very firm erection.

Bucky sighed. Splashed water on his face a few times and tried to think about something unsexy. His high school Government teacher. Steve’s bad habit of leaving a half inch of milk in the jug and putting it back in the fridge, back when they used to live together. His mom’s corned beef hash on toast.

That did it.

Okay. Okay, he was fine. He was going to go get his bag and get some sleep.

It wasn’t until he got upstairs with his bag that he realized that he’d left one piece of the lingerie on his bed; the little black silky thing that had felt so soft against his cheek.

His neglected erection came back, full force.

Shit. Shit shit shit. There was no good way to give it back now.

Was there?

“Guess it’s mine now,” Bucky said, and that was a shivery little bit of kinky thought there. Like a prize, or a trophy. _Look at this, I have Tony Stark’s underwear._

Bucky went weak in the knees, practically collapsing on the bed.

***

 _Finally_. Tony opened his suitcase and -- yeah, this was the right one, thank Tesla. He pulled open a drawer of the dresser and opened the closet, and started to put things away so they wouldn’t get wrinkled.

Except the first thing he pulled out -- his gauzy, soft robe -- wasn’t so much _folded_ as mangled into a more or less rectangular shape. Frowning, Tony hung it up and reached for the next piece. Which was similarly rumpled. As was the next.

Whoever had opened his bag hadn’t just looked in it and closed it up again. They’d looked through it. Damn it.

Well. Nothing for it, really. He didn’t have time to have everything laundered tonight. He’d just have to deal with it for now.

He put everything away and then stopped, unsettled. He opened the drawer again and counted the underwear. He was one short. He was absolutely certain he’d packed enough for the whole trip -- he’d double-checked -- but now there was one missing.

He checked the suitcase again, making sure it hadn’t slipped under the lining, or gotten tucked into one of the pockets. No dice.

Someone had taken his goddamn underwear.

Great.

Tony dropped into the chair and massaged his forehead a little to try to stave off the headache he felt coming on. It wasn’t like it was that big a deal, was it, really? Even if the person knew whose it was, there was no way to prove it. So he was out a pair of underwear. He’d just run out after tomorrow’s meeting -- the first day was always short, just introductions and business bluster -- and buy some more.

Right. Yes.

He put the incident out of his mind. Well, tried. He changed into a satin teddy and pulled on his robe, and laid back on the bed, feeling the soothing caress of the fabric against his skin, and tried to think of something else. That guy from the lobby with the pouty mouth and the shoulders, that was a hell of a combination.

Tony wondered what _he’d_ look like in Tony’s underwear. Mmm, nice. That scruff would probably feel amazing, dragged over Tony’s stomach, the satin only barely softening the scratchy feel of it. Yeah. Yeah, that was _very_ nice.

***

“Probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Barnes,” Bucky told himself, threading the belt through his loops. The soft pair of lacy boxer briefs cradled him like a lover, under his pants.

_No one will ever know._

There was no reason, even, to think that anyone would figure it out.

_And even if they did--_

That had occurred to Bucky _after_ he’d jerked off, the little shorts held in his free hand against his throat.

Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different -- well, maybe his color was up a bit. There was an _awareness_. Something. He wasn’t sure.

“Take ‘em off and stop acting like a complete creep,” Bucky told himself. He got his hand on the buckle, except he remembered how _nice_ they’d looked, against his skin, the way the fabric clung to his ass. Fuck it. One day of deviating from his normal habits of being as unremarkable as possible wasn’t going to kill him.

No one had to know. And he’d probably never see any of these people again, _anyway._

He turned around and checked his ass. He couldn’t see the outline. Hell, he couldn’t see any outline, not the normal wrunkle where his boxers sometimes showed. It was all smooth and perfect.

***

Tony checked his ass in the mirror -- perfectly smooth, as it should be -- and then pulled on his suit jacket and adjusted his Day One Power Tie. He slipped on the matching sunglasses and checked the mirror again. Yeah, he was going to own the conference.

As usual.

He double-checked that his important shit was in his pocket or his briefcase, then headed down to the conference room.

Where he nearly ran over the hot guy from the lobby, now sharply dressed. In a suit that looked... familiar.

Tony blinked and took half a step back, and offered the guy a sharp smile and a hand to shake. “Hi. You’re here for the tech consortium?”

“Hmm?” The guy blinked a few times as if he’d accidentally looked straight into the sun. “Oh, yeah, right. James Barnes, Hammer Tech.”

Well, well, well. The conference was looking up already. “Yeah?” Tony let his grip linger just a couple of seconds longer than necessary. “Looking forward to hearing what Hammer’s pulled out of his ass for this year’s show. No offense to you, just your boss.” He grinned, not quite making it a joke.

“I’m sure Mr. Hammer will be delighted to hear you remember him,” Barnes said. He looked down at their clasped hands. “Not to gossip, but he has like the biggest man crush on you.”

“Well, who doesn’t?” Tony said. “Too bad for him it’s not mutual. My taste is a little more refined.” He gave Barnes a quick wink, then turned to help himself to the coffee.

Barnes selected a seat, and, either still half asleep, or absent-minded, he dropped his stuff on the table. A pen rattled, rolled, and fell on the floor. “Damn it,” Barnes muttered and bent over to retrieve it. His suit slacks -- not very slack at all -- clung to impressive thighs as he moved and Tony couldn’t help but follow the line down.

Barnes’ thighs and butt were… utterly smooth. Flawless.

Tony’s gaze lingered, and then realized he was looking at shoes that he’d seen before, too.

Shit. Shit shit shit, _Barnes_ was the guy who had the matching suitcase.

The guy who’d swiped Tony’s underwear. Tony took another look at Barnes’ ass, and was about 80% certain Barnes was _wearing_ Tony’s underwear, because Tony had _seen_ the stuff Barnes had packed, and there should be a line.

About twenty percent of Tony’s brain was annoyed and indignant. The other eighty percent was rapidly falling down the hole of imagining (again) what Barnes would look like, stripped out of that suit.

Fuuuuck, other people were beginning to filter into the room and Tony did not have _time_ for an inconvenient erection right now. He willed it down and set his briefcase down on the table, claiming a seat directly across from Barnes, before pasting on his meet-and-greet smile and turning on the charm for the other attendees.

This was going to be the longest day _ever_.

***

Bucky couldn’t have felt more naked than if he’d actually shown up to the meeting like he was in some horrible dream about high school.   

This had been a _huge_ mistake.

He was positive that most of the room could sense there was something just a little off about him.

The very first person he’d met at the confabulation was Tony Stark, who’d gripped his hand a little too long and had eyed Bucky like something he wanted to stuff and mount on his wall.

_He knows._

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Stark was going to be at the damn conference? He knew that Stark was _supposed_ to be there, it just… hadn’t really dawned on him that he’d have to make conversation with the man while wearing Stark’s damn underwear.

The table was narrower than he wanted it to be, too.

Bucky had long damn legs and there never seemed to be a setting on the adjustable chairs that was comfortable, so his legs stuck out further than the safe, halfway point.

And of course Stark sat down right across from him.

The first time Stark bumped Bucky’s ankle under the table, Bucky jerked back as if he’d been electrified. The talk and introductions and five minute elevator pitches went over Bucky’s head; if he heard one word in twenty, that was being generous. Bucky muttered his own intro and the carefully memorized scriptette, talking to the table.

And Tony had winked at him.

What. The Hell? Was Tony flirting with him?

Bucky went hot all over, his body flushing. He raised a hand to loosen his tie, and exhibiting more bravery than he’d ever managed in his life, glanced up to catch Tony’s gaze. He lifted an eyebrow, didn’t look away.

Tony didn’t stop talking about... whatever it was, carefully-worded hints about SI’s new proprietary coding engine or something, but the corner of his mouth ticked up, just a bit, and his eyes drifted down to Bucky’s mouth, and then lower, to Bucky’s throat, before sliding slowly, unhurriedly, back up to meet Bucky’s gaze again.

Bucky let his leg slide over until it bumped against Tony’s calf.

And didn’t pull back.

***

Tony didn’t pay much attention to the conference. He wouldn’t have anyway -- his tech could run rings around most of these clowns even if he slept through the whole thing. And with Barnes -- _James_ \-- playing along with Tony’s game, he had more important things to concentrate on.

That light flush that had crawled up James’ face stayed put, but he kept bumping his leg up against Tony’s under the table, kept giving Tony those steamy looks from under his lashes, kept biting and licking his lip and trailing lazy spirals on his notepad with his fingertip.

When they broke for lunch, Tony pretended to be checking and answering texts on his phone as he watched people filing out of the conference room one by one, chatting and shaking hands and exchanging business cards. Tony watched until James actually left the room, counted to ten, and then got up to follow at a leisurely, unhurried stroll.

He walked into the men’s room just in time to watch James realize that if he unzipped at the urinal, everyone would be able to see that underwear.

Tony met James’ eyes in the mirror, smiled knowingly, and pushed into a stall to wait for the few other people to leave.

Tony could hear James splashing water on his face.

“Heh,” one of the other guys said. “it'll be less boring tomorrow. Don't fall asleep.”

The guy left and James said to no one (or maybe to Tony), “Bored ain't even _half_ the problem.”

Tony checked the floor under the stalls and saw no other feet. “No? And what _is_ the problem, James?” He came out of the stall and leaned one hip against the sink counter, close enough to James to feel the heat baking off the man’s body.

“ _Super_ busted,” James muttered. “About thirty percent bad luck, thirty percent bad timing, and forty percent lack of forethought.” He glanced up to meet Tony's gaze in the mirror. “Took a calculated risk, but _man_ am I bad at math.”

Tony grinned, sharp and toothy. “I rather doubt that. You strike me as a man who appreciates a good curvilinear function. Not to mention the thrill of discovery.”

James chewed on that lucious lower lip again. “In my, rather minimal, admittedly, defense, I didn’t notice that it was on the bed, before I took your suitcase down. And then, what? I couldn’t--” His gaze wobbled a little, nervous. “--couldn’t figure out how to give it back without making a mess of it. Reckon I did that, anyway.”

Tony slid just a little closer, until he had to cant his head back a bit to keep meeting James’ gaze. “So you thought, as long as you had them, you’d try it out? See how it felt?” He cocked his head, studying that gorgeous flush on James’ skin. “So tell me. How does it feel?”

“Nice,” James said, and his voice squeaked a little, like it was a question. He rumbled a cough, then, “it’s nice. Soft. Kinda… decadent. Like, _oh, I ain’t s’posed to, but God, I want to_.”

“Well, good. I’d hate to think of you sitting through all those tedious presentations all day wearing something that scratched and chafed, and you not even able to scratch that itch.” Tony let his gaze drop, let James see it as he took in the flutter of pulse at James’ throat, the heaviness of James’ breath. “Speaking of things you’re not supposed to do, but want anyway...”

Those blue eyes went wide and dark. “Yeah, you got somethin’ tender that needs attendin’? An itch to scratch?” Whole constellations spun out and died in space in the seconds it took James to move, his hand moving almost in slow motion, until it rested on Tony’s wrist.

Tony didn’t bother with any more words, just tipped his head and leaned in to slot their mouths together, teasing at the seam of James’ lips with his tongue until they opened to let him in. Tony curled his hand around the back of James’ neck and plundered that sweet mouth, tasting every bit of it, stealing the breath out of James’ mouth.

For a long moment, James met him, kiss for kiss and lick for lick, but barely moving, as if he was frozen in place, and then suddenly Tony found himself backed up against the wall, cool tiles against his back. James laced their fingers together, pinned Tony’s hand to the wall. The other roamed down Tony’s arm, to his hip, then down his thigh, urging Tony to hook his leg around James’s hip.

The space between them disappeared, and Tony could almost hear the soft _whish_ of the silk under James’s trousers.

Tony dragged his free hand down James’ chest, teased at the waistband of his trousers, dipping a finger inside just far enough to feel the soft lace of the underwear. “Come up to my room for lunch,” he growled softly. “I’m sure we can find something tasty there.”

James was dazed, eyes a little glassy, and he nodded. “Yeah, probably this is not the best place--” He blinked, then gave Tony a slow, creampot smile. “Yes. I want--” He left it generally unspoken, but the hard line of him pressed against Tony’s thigh was clear enough.

Tony tugged his hand free, then left the bathroom, not really looking to see if James would follow, but feeling the man’s presence behind him palpably anyway. They didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, but once they were inside, Tony let himself examine James’ reflection in the mirrored wall. That sweet blush was something special.

James ran his thumb wonderingly over his lip, soft and swollen, as if he was checking to see if it was real, as if he’d been somehow _changed_ by a few minutes of frantic making out in a public bathroom. He caught Tony watching him, and while his flush grew a little darker, it seemed more of arousal and less embarrassed.

When the elevator opened to an empty hall, he let his fingers slip into Tony’s hand and followed him down the hall.

***

Bucky supposed it could be a trap, an elaborate set-up slash revenge. Or even angry hate sex, meant to punish him for his thievery. He didn’t think so, but even if it was, he was pretty sure he’d follow Tony’s mouth anywhere-- that man could kiss like setting the world on fire.

They’d barely gotten inside the door of Tony’s hotel room -- several pay grades above Bucky’s own -- when he got another taste of that mouth. Tony pushed him against the door and kissed him like a starving man.

And each time Bucky’s hips moved, he could feel the lace, the silk under his trousers, like some erotic torture.

The silk stretched to cup him as he swelled, the material breathing easily. He was convinced he might die if Tony didn’t touch him, and then was positive that he _would_ die, as soon as it actually happened. “Shit, that’s-- okay, okay, that’s…” He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, and his hands explored Tony’s body, lithe, lean, the muscles hard and wiry. Down Tony’s back and slid under the man’s belt to--

Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Tony was also wearing the fancy drawers? His fingers encountered more of that slippery, cool stuff and the entire rest of him burst into flames.

He let himself sink to his knees in front of Tony and rubbed his cheek against that bulge that was tenting up Tony’s slacks.

Tony’s hands slipped through his hair, surprisingly gentle given the urgency of their kissing and groping. “Oh, yeah, that’s nice, that’s-- Hang on, let me...” He tugged at the belt and opened his trousers, pushing them down to the middle of his thighs, revealing elegant lace stretched over a gorgeous cock, the faintest dark patch over the tip where he’d leaked a little precome. “You can lick right through them,” he told Bucky in a conversational tone only just touched with a hint of unsteady wobble. “Go on, give it a try for me.” His hand was back in Bucky’s hair, stroking and petting.

It took him probably longer than he meant to actually try it, too busy staring and admiring and trying not to shoot off like he was a fourteen year old kid dry humping someone under the bleachers during school pep-rally. He let his fingertips graze down the fabric, not quite touching Tony’s dick. Just enough to notice how slippery, almost frictionless, the material was. More of a tease, maybe, than he meant. Until Tony’s knees unlocked and his thighs were quaking.

“Oh, can I?” Bucky asked, finally getting with the program. He closed his mouth a moment, just breathing warm air over the thin material. He darted his tongue out to taste, and the underwear was slick against his tongue. Not rough or lint-y, but like the next best thing to skin. Curious, he pulled back just a little and blew cool air over the wet stripe. “Reckon I can.”

Tony hissed and shuddered and his hand tightened in Bucky’s hair for a moment. “You certainly can,” he agreed. “Please do.” He shifted a little, making the trousers fall all the way to the floor and stepping out of one leg to widen his stance.

“Holy hell, _look_ at you--” Tony was wearing black stockings; dark enough that they looked like men’s dress-socks at his ankles, but they went all the way to halfway up his thigh, a patch of lace and elastic holding them up. Bucky’d played around a little with dressing up -- everyone he knew had been in the Rocky Horror cast at one time or another -- but he’d always taken it as an illicit joke, a bit of a thrill. Acceptable, but only under certain circumstances.

And here was Tony goddamn Stark wearing the most elegant, obviously made for him as his --

“You wear this all th’ time? Or just special?” Bucky hoped that came out as curious, and not accusatory, because god, he could spend his whole life on his knees, looking at Tony looking like _that_ , and not have one single goddamn problem with it.

Tony wobbled the hand that wasn’t still in Bucky’s hair, _so-so_. “Sometimes,” he said. “Half the time, maybe sixty percent? Not when I’m in the workshop -- too easy to get runs in the stockings -- and not when I’m flying, because all it would take is one TSA agent willing to dump confidentiality for a big payout. But definitely when I’m going to high-level meetings and shows. It’s a real power boost.”

“I can see that,” Bucky said. He reached up, very slowly, and unbuttoned Tony’s shirt. One at a time. Accompanied, or perhaps punctuated by, darting little licks at the fabric stretched around Tony’s cock. Each patch of wet made the silk more see-through, made it cling to him obscene and gorgeous.

Bucky wore simple, thin white tees under his dress shirts.

Tony wore a dark silky camisole that would have been even less visible under his blue business shirt than Bucky’s tank. His nipples were hard, under the camisole, poking at the fabric, and Bucky rewarded them with a tweak. Tony’s shirt spread open, the tie still around his neck, pants around his ankles… “You are the most fucking beautiful thing I ever saw.” He wanted to take a picture, to keep it, even if this moment was going to be seared in his memory for the rest of his goddamn life.

Tony smirked a little. “Likewise, hot stuff.” He brushed his thumb along Bucky’s lip, eyes dark with wanting. “Christ, you’ve got me wound tight already. Feel like a damn kid again. Can I-- Let me see?”

“What-- Oh, yeah, hang on.” Bucky gave Tony’s cock one long lick, as if he was saying goodbye, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Tony moaned and quivered under it.

Bucky tugged off his shoes, dumped the jacket and tugged his tie loose, but left it threaded through his collar. Tony watched him avidly, and Bucky felt the heat at the back of his neck, the way his ears burned. There was something erotic and very intimate about taking off his clothes while Tony gazed at him with those doe-eyes.

He shucked the shirt and undershirt, knowing they were going to be horridly rumpled, and didn’t care. The sound Tony made once Bucky’s chest was bare was worth it.

Finally, he dropped his trousers and stood there a little awkwardly, wearing the lacy panties and his business socks. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next; his arms felt strange, like he should be able to take one off or something, hang it on a hook. Without pockets, without touching Tony, he wasn’t sure what the hell his body language was saying.

Tony didn’t seem too concerned about Bucky’s hands, at least. He eyed Bucky up and down, hungry. “Oh, honey, just _look_ at you.” His hands ran down Bucky’s hips, thumbs caressing the soft fabric, then dropped to one knee as he continued on down Bucky’s thighs. “God, you’re gorgeous, and I can’t even imagine how amazing you’d look dressed up in pretty things. These thighs... Nng.”

He leaned back to look up at Bucky, admiring, and cupped Bucky’s cock through the panties, making the soft lace drag over the sensitive skin. Bucky shivered and Tony did it again. “Yeah, just like that.”

Bucky was about to offer Tony anything he wanted; he’d wear anything Tony gave him, do anything, give Tony his soul on a fucking platter, as long as Tony didn’t stop touching him. He wondered what it would feel like to rub his dick against Tony’s through the layers of fabric. Shuddered all over, and then realized he could just fucking _find out_. The bed was huge, covered with a white, soft comforter. It would look a hell of a lot more inviting with Tony spread out over it, needy and desperate and rising to meet Bucky’s touches.

He nudged and brought Tony up for a quick kiss -- and then again, because he couldn’t seem to resist that tempting mouth -- before walking him backward across the room. Tony went over easily enough, squirming to fucking crawl into the center of the bed.

Holy hell, the back of Tony’s drawers were even more tempting than the front, sheer enough for Bucky to see _everything._ Before Bucky could even think to pounce, Tony rolled over, lazily sprawling his limbs out spread eagle like an offering.

Bucky took him up on that invitation, crawling up between Tony’s knees and covering him like a blanket. Rained kisses down along the planes of Tony’s cheeks, against that jaw, along his throat, and with each kiss, Bucky stroked himself against Tony, rutting them together. “Jesus,” Bucky swore, nipping at Tony’s throat lightly, then lower, licking his clavicle.

Tony rocked his head back, exposing his throat for better access. His hips rolled, his spine arched, he looked utterly lost to pleasure and entirely unselfconscious and unashamed for it. “God,” he groaned. “James... I want... I want more, I want--” He lifted his head to look at Bucky again. “You like to top, honey?”

Bucky tucked his face against Tony’s throat, weak with wanting. He would take whatever Tony was willing to give him, but letting himself sink into that hot, lean body would be-- could be… “Yeah, anything you want.” He licked at Tony’s neck again, slid down to nuzzle at Tony’s belly, soft and fluttering under Bucky’s questing mouth. “You-- uh, you got a condom an’, I mean. I didn’t expect--” They weren’t even in his room, where he had a bit of lube just for jerking off.

“I always travel prepared,” Tony said smugly. He squirmed out from under Bucky and walked to the closet where he’d stashed his suitcase, letting Bucky get a good look at the way the lingerie framed that stunning ass. He came out with a strip of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a cat-in-the-cream smile. He tossed his finds onto the bed and climbed up, straddling Bucky’s hips and leaning in to suck at Bucky’s neck, leaving a mark just barely low enough to be covered with the shirt collar.

Bucky ran his hand down Tony’s chest, ending with a loving stroke and squeeze at that gorgeous cock. “If I wake up from a wet dream, I am gonna be so disappointed,” Bucky said. He kept stroking Tony through those obscene little panties, until Tony was rocking into Bucky’s touch, practically riding him.

He slid his hand lower, then between Tony’s legs, teasing at his balls, and that flat, sensitive patch behind them before reaching all the way back. The lingerie didn’t leave anything to chance, each curve and wrinkle in Tony’s skin perfectly outlined. Bucky rubbed at Tony’s hole, using that frictionless fabric to smooth the way.

Tony moaned wantonly, pushing into Bucky’s touch like a cat for a minute, before stripping the panties off entirely and crawling onto the bed, pushing that ass up into the air, begging shamelessly. “Come on, gorgeous, want to feel you filling me up. You’re going to give it to me so good, I can tell.”

“You keep talkin’ filthy like that,” Bucky said, getting himself upright, “an’ what I’m gonna do is come untouched, and then where will you be? Hmmm?” He stroked Tony’s bare ass. The man’s skin was almost as soft and smooth as the drawers. Bucky couldn’t quite help himself, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek and chin against the firm curve of Tony’s ass, the same way he’d rubbed his cheek against those drawers.

“Mm, I bet we could get you up again,” Tony said, almost purring. “Could be fun to try it, really.” He hummed again thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, then sighed. “Not enough time. Maybe later.”

Later? Bucky swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought any further than this one afternoon, but-- “We got all week,” Bucky offered, and then he wet his fingers with the lube and blew on them to warm it up. Slippery stuff, like it was supposed to be, and it smelled nice. Like ritzy skin cream or something, instead of cheap bathroom coin-op lube. “Gonna touch you now.” He put one hand on the base of Tony’s spine and let the other tease at Tony’s hole, fingering the opening to Tony’s body.

Tony groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt. He barely resisted Bucky’s tentative probing, relaxing quickly to let Bucky in, and then drawing him even further in, hungry. “Yeah, that’s, that’s perfect, that’s-- Keep going, just like that, honey, that’s just right.” He pushed back as Bucky sank into him, eager and needy.

Bucky had to count backward from a hundred, and then again, to keep from just diving right in as soon as he’d gotten out of the drawers. Condom first, he told himself, and then had to struggle with it awkwardly, his fingers slick with lube, to get it open and on. Tony whined and wriggled, as if urging him to get a fucking move on. Nothing Bucky wanted more, but he wanted, oh, he wanted it to be good. To be… sublime and perfect and everything Tony deserved.

He was on his knees, bent over, those stockings still clinging to his thighs, a little red circle around each where the elastic had slipped a little. It was the most erotic thing Bucky’d ever seen. Making love in the middle of the damn day, sun bright in the hotel room, and Tony on his knees.

_Fuck._

“That’s the idea,” Bucky told himself, just loud enough to get a hazy “hmmm?” out of Tony. “I gotcha, gonna take care of you,” Bucky promised, rubbing Tony’s hips as he lined himself up. He nudged the head of his cock against Tony’s hole. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tony said. He reached back with one hand and pulled on his hip, spreading himself open. “Want you in me, want to feel you in me, c’mon, now...”

Bucky nodded, even if Tony couldn’t see it. Pushed in, slow and steady. Tony was warm and slick and inviting, and Bucky had to run through a whole handful of unpleasant things in his head to keep from just slamming home. “Don’t move,” he said, panting as he felt Tony unclench around him, and then squeeze again, until he was confident he wouldn’t go off like a bottle rocket. “There, there you are.” He rocked back, and then in again, short strokes, but deep. Tony was all around him, an eager clutch.

Tony sighed and rocked in counterpoint, trying to pull Bucky even deeper inside. “Yeah, oh, god, James, yes, more, harder, _harder_ , make me feel you all day.”

It didn’t take long before Tony’s encouragement and eagerness had Bucky moving; harder, faster, deeper. Each slick slide, each desperate clench, drew him closer and closer, but Bucky kept his eyes on the prize, waiting -- even though he _wanted_ so much his thighs ached from the strain -- wanting Tony to get there first.

He reached around, curled his fingers around Tony’s cock, gave him something to rub against. “Yeah, you feel so good, baby, I-- yeah, that’s sweet, like that.”

Tony cried out, his body jerking in Bucky’s grasp, thrusting into Bucky’s fist at a near-brutal pace. “Yes, yes, yes, I-- Oh, fuck, that’s-- _Oh!_ ” He went rigid, shaking all over, and wet warmth flooded over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, god, yes.” Tony slumped a little bit, shoulders going lax in the wake of his orgasm.

Bucky swore fervently as Tony clenched around him. It wasn’t much longer, no more than a dozen more strokes through that heat and squeeze, before Bucky went over the edge after Tony. They were both panting for air, sticky with cooling sweat. “Holy christ.” Bucky grimaced and gripped the edge of the condom as he pulled out. “You a cuddler, or more of a ‘thanks, go away now’ kinda a guy?”

Tony slumped out flat on the bed and threw one leg over Bucky’s. “Shh,” he mumbled. “Time for a fifteen-minute nap.”

“‘Kay,” Bucky agreed. He struggled with the comforter for a moment, then got it, pulling it over them like a burrito, letting his nose find the dip in Tony’s throat. “Jus’ wake me up.” He nuzzled Tony once, twice, and… fell asleep before he could do it a third time.


End file.
